


Charlie and Dennis Have A Gay Week

by bidennisreynolds



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Dissociation, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff, Hair-pulling, Implied/Referenced CSA, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, idiots to lovers, the mentions of csa are about charden's childhoods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:30:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bidennisreynolds/pseuds/bidennisreynolds
Summary: Dennis finds Charlie on the doorstep of his family home one Summer evening after his first year of college. Covered in sewerage, smelling of shit and on the precipice of a mental breakdown. Chaos, obviously, ensues.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70





	Charlie and Dennis Have A Gay Week

**Author's Note:**

> This is my (dumb, crappy) entry for the IASIP Big Bang, as always its charden. There's mentions of both of them discussing their past csa but for the most part its them being dumb and gay and getting really high. ALSO dee isn’t in this bc i find her and dennis’ interactions really difficult to write and i think by this point isn’t she in a mental hospital for setting her roommate on fire? anyway

11:31 pm.

On a Sunday.

Philadelphia, PA.

Dennis has always thought Charlie was just a little bit insane. Dennis was too, of course, he could admit that, but he didn't have that same dangerous quality Charlie seemed to have. Dennis had always thought Charlie seemed one minor breakdown away from just losing the scraps of sanity he had left (and, if Dennis was honest, there really hadn’t been that many to start with) and resorting to a life with the rats in the sewers below the city. Dennis often wondered just how many years it would take before Charlie abandoned his semi-normal human life and name and let the rodents take him under their metaphorical wings. Jesus, wouldn’t it be terrifying if rats had wings?

He’s particularly focused on this train of thought at this current moment in time because Charlie is stood on the doorstep of Dennis’ family home, smelling of shit and covered in a mysterious dark substance.

"Charlie, it's a Sunday," Is what Dennis says, although his brain has many other words at the ready that he would much rather say. Like 'Why are you on the porch of my family home?' and 'Why do you smell like actual, genuine shit?' and 'What is that dark stuff dude? Is that sewerage? Are you drenched in sewerage on my front doorstep? Did you really show up to my family home on a Sunday smelling like shit, covered in actual sewerage?’.

Dennis doesn't say any of those things, though, because Charlie looks like he might scream if he does, and he's pretty sure that Frank keeps a loaded gun under his pillow and Dennis doesn't particularly want to find out whether or not that’s the case at 11:30 pm on a Sunday.

"Yeah, dude, it’s like... God's day or whatever it is that Mac says all the time. Hey, dude, its cold. Can I like, come in and shit?"

"And shit?!" Dennis can't help but let the exclamation come out. Charlie reeks. And he is covered in, quite possibly, literal shit. So, yeah, Dennis doesn’t really have a great handle on his emotions at the moment, or on the English language.

Charlie stares at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, "No dude, like, like can I come in. 'And shit' was just like a... a what’s it called, a spaceholder-"

"Placeholder."

"But that doesn't make any sense dude, there are no places in sentences! There is space though and those words hold the-"

"Charlie, please stop talking," Dennis inhales sharply. He tries very hard not to shout. He shouts a little bit anyway, “You're covered in an unidentified substance-"

"I know what it is-"

"Please don't tell me what it is,” Dennis cuts in, hand raised, then sighs. He doesn’t want to be mad at Charlie. He never wants to be mad at Charlie. He frequently gets mad at Charlie anyway, "Why are you here?"

"I told you, it’s God's day."

Dennis very much wants to smash his head into the wall.

He would like to slam his entire head straight into a wall. He won’t. He thinks. He just has a deep urge to. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes another deep breath. He doesn’t think about his college counsellor telling him that breathing techniques will help him control his rage because that would be stupid and sad. He clenched his fist. Unclenches. He really, really can’t snap at Charlie. Or, at least, he doesn’t want to.

He holds himself to slightly higher standards around Charlie, what with the weird shit that kept happening with Charlie's uncle and Charlie's illiteracy and Charlie being... well, being Charlie. So he couldn't, even if he wanted to, start shouting at Charlie. He thinks this is what other people call empathy, it just so happens that his is selective.

"Okay, and why does that mean you're here?" Dennis tries to ask but by this point Charlie has reached the tail end of his already short attention span and is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"Oh my GOD!" Dennis tries very hard not to wince at the screaming. He's not quite sure that he succeeded, "Dude I will explain in a minute! Can I just come inside, please? Will you just let me inside? Please, Dennis, will you just letmeinside?" Charlie is getting louder the longer this goes on, words getting closer together and far less intelligible and Dennis inhales sharply again, rolls his eyes and grabs Charlie by the arm to drag him inside without a second thought.

He really should have taken a minute for that second thought.

When Dennis said Charlie was covered in this mysterious substance, he truly meant covered. Saturated. Soaked. Drenched. And now it was on the floor of the foyer. The carpeted floor of the foyer. The cream coloured carpeted floor of the foyer. Dennis would not scream. He wouldn't. He wouldn't.

He might.

"Dude, you look like you're gonna blow up or something, you okay?" Charlie actually has the audacity to ask and Dennis is now certain that if he were to open his mouth right now this second, he would start to screech and would not be able to stop. So instead, he opts to wildly gesture to the floor that Charlie is stood on. Charlie glances down and laughs - laughs! - waving off any concern with a hand that nearly, very, very nearly, splashes the liquid (seriously, what is that?) all over the walls, "I'll clean up, don't worry about that. I will need some clothes and a shower though."

"What, and I mean every word I say here, the fuck are you doing here covered in that?" Dennis very nearly screams. It comes out as more of a whisper-scream of sorts because, again, it is still almost midnight, he would like to reiterate, on a Sunday night in the foyer of his family home. And his dad almost definitely has a gun.

"I had to get out of the house," Charlie states, like it‘s obvious. Maybe it is. Maybe Dennis should have figured that one out by himself a tad sooner. This certainly isn’t the first time that Charlie has shown up at Dennis' house unannounced late at night and, Dennis assumes regretfully, this almost definitely will not be the last. He’s never met Charlie’s Uncle Jack, but he can’t imagine he’s a particularly fun house guest, "And this is sewerage."

Well, okay, Dennis definitely should have figured that one out at least.

"Do not move. A single. Muscle."

"Can I br-"

"Yes, Charlie, of course you can breathe!"

"Dude, you're gonna wake someone up with that shouting."

Dennis takes a deep breath. Then another. On the fifth he supposes he should probably start to do something about the situation at hand and motions for Charlie to remain still - because opening his mouth right now would be a mistake - before creeping up the stairs to his room. This is fine. This is going to be fine. Everything is totally and utterly fine. Completely and totally and utterly and definitely fine.

He works on autopilot, grabbing clothes, towels, making his way back downstairs for cleaning supplies and when he returns to the foyer, he is almost calm.

That is until he sees that Charlie has moved. Not only that Charlie has moved but that Charlie is now sitting - sitting!! - on the carpet. Dennis would like to reiterate, again, the cream carpet.

“What did I say?” Dennis is impressed at how level and quiet his voice is, but he definitely sounds angry and it makes Charlie startle. In spite of himself, Dennis feels a smidgen of guilt tingle at the base of his neck at the sight. Stupid empathy.

“What? Oh, don’t… Yeah, but dude you were gone for like ages and I-”

“Say one more word and I will skin you, I swear to God Charlie.”

Charlie shuts up then, in favour of looking down at his hands clasped in his lap and Dennis takes what feels like his millionth deep breath of the night. He places the items collected from about the house on the floor and walks towards Charlie, but it’s at this point that things take a surprisingly drastic turn for the worse.

He’s not sure if it’s the fact that the height difference between the two of them is considerably larger now that Charlie’s sat on the floor, or just the fact that Charlie was looking down when Dennis started to move, but when he’s about a foot away, Dennis has to jump out of the way of Charlie near karate chopping his shin.

“What the fuck?” Dennis eloquently responds to the narrowly avoided violence and Charlie looks up, seemingly blinking out of a daze and shakes his head.

“Sorry, sorry, I thought you were someone else,” Charlie mumbles and Dennis doesn’t respond immediately with what he wants to say. Namely ‘You are literally sat on the floor of the entrance hall of my family home’. He doesn’t say anything, actually, because Charlie’s eyes are glazed over in that way that they get sometimes that makes Dennis’ unfeeling heart ache.

Empathy really is a bitch, huh?

He doesn’t want to admit that it’s because he knows why Charlie is like this. That it’s because he’s been there. That he knows the feeling.

“You’ve got to use your words with me, okay bud?” Dennis says instead, eventually, uncharacteristically soft as he moves to crouch down on the floor when Charlie nods, “You’re fine, yeah? We’re going to be okay?”

Charlie hums something non-committal and unintelligible and Dennis hates how aware he is of his skin right now. It’s a peculiar feeling, like there’s an itch he can’t scratch because he doesn’t know where it is. Like he wants to run out of the house, screaming at the top of his lungs. He can do this, though, for the next hour or so, even though his mind feels very disconnected from reality, and nothing feels quite real at the moment. He can keep it together for Charlie. He pushes his own memories of a dusty library and sharp fingernails and the smell of damp out of his head and promises himself that he can get drunk later.

“Can you stand up for me?” Another, non-committal hum rings through his ears but Charlie gets up from where he’s sitting. Dennis is grateful (and slightly intrigued as well as incredibly appalled) that the substance covering Charlie is mostly dry now, and the carpet doesn’t appear nearly as bad as he thought it would. If God does exist, as Mac is so fond of telling them, He’s certainly looking down on Dennis right now.

Dennis helps Charlie take his shoes off – Velcro, thank God - and leaves them in the hall. Dennis swallows the mean comments about Charlie’s footwear choices and silently thanks the God that he doesn’t believe in that he only has to have minimal contact with the (actual, genuine) shit that coats Charlie. He stands, slowly, and offers a hand to Charlie in order to lead him to the downstairs bathroom.

“Sorry about the carpet,” Charlie says when they’re about halfway there. His voice sounds like he’s out of practice using it; hollow and robotic. Dennis peers over Charlie’s head at the dark stain in the hallway, feels his shoulders tense and then waves his free hand in dismissal.

“I’ll get it later, it’s fine,” He lies with the grace that comes with all the lies he tells and Charlie nods in semi-relief. 

Once they’re in the bathroom, Dennis piles up the change of clothes and towels onto the seat of the toilet and grabs a bucket from underneath the sink.

“You okay in here by yourself?” Dennis asks and Charlie, once again, hums. The sound does not indicate a yes or no answer. 

Dennis will not lose his temper. He won’t. He’s got this. Barely.

“Words, Charlie,” Dennis finds this is the only thing he can manage to say.

“Wh-Oh, yeah, I’m good.”

“Can you shower on your own?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Dennis does not believe for a single moment that Charlie is capable of showering alone, but there’s a giant shit stain - literally - in his hallway that he’s going to have to try and get rid of, so he supposes he should probably leave, “Don’t get high off the solvents.”

“What are solvents?” Charlie asks as Dennis closes the door and Dennis, for the first time tonight, feels a laugh bubble in the back of his throat at the insanity of it all.

While he cleans, he wonders why he decided to come back from college for the summer at all. Mac had been at some weird, cult Church camp for the better part of the month, Dee was still stuck in that weird mental institution after setting her roommate on fire (seriously, who does things like that) and Charlie…

Okay, so maybe things had been pretty good with Charlie recently. Tonight notwithstanding.

It helped a little that Mac wasn’t around. Neither him nor Charlie would ever admit it, but if Dennis was being completely honest with himself - a foreign concept - he would acknowledge the fact that there was a certain competition between the two of them for Mac’s attention. Charlie had always been jealous that Mac had found a new best friend. It had been them against the world since they’d met, until Dennis had entered the picture. And Dennis? Well, Dennis simply didn’t like sharing.

Dennis doesn’t realise how hard he’s been scrubbing the floor until he tunes back in and he realises his hands are cramping. The carpet doesn’t look like it’ll stain, which he’s grateful for. In fact, he’s pretty sure that the carpet looks cleaner than it was before. Who knew spacing out could be so useful? He is convinced he can still smell shit, though.

When he finally stands, his knees ache and he leans a hand against the wall to steady himself. Now he can smell damp and dust and old books and-

“Den?” He hears from behind him, tugging him out of far too heavily detailed memories and turns to see Charlie, Dennis’ t-shirt hanging too-big off his shoulders, towel piled up in his hands and water dripping from his hair onto the floor, “I left the sewer clothes in the bathroom. I was going to say I could help you clean but…” He trails off, eyes going distant again and Dennis suddenly feels a wave of exhaustion pass over him. He doesn’t think he has the energy to do this, but he will anyway.

“You okay to go upstairs?” Dennis asks and Charlie nods but doesn’t move, “I’ll be up in two minutes.”

“Yeah,” He says, somehow more distant than before, his eyes completely unfocused. Dennis blinks rapidly to keep himself from befalling the same fate. He starts to dig his fingernails into the palm of his hand even though he’s not completely convinced that it helps.

“Charlie, eyes here,” Dennis clicks his fingers in front of his face and Charlie focuses in again and blinks, then nods.

“Yeah, okay, yeah. I’m good, dude, I’m fine. Your room?” Dennis nods and Charlie bounds up the stairs with just a little too much enthusiasm. So energetic that if anyone but Dennis had been watching, they wouldn't be able to believe that Dennis had found him sitting on the floor staring into space half an hour ago. Dennis knows better though. He knows better than anyone.

Dennis does one more scan of the hallway and to his shock finds the bathroom in a far better state than what he had been expecting. He’s impressed, a little proud and a lot more relaxed. He collects together the clothes that Charlie had left and immediately throws them in the trash, because, you know, they were soaked through with actual shit. And when he returns to the bathroom, he scrubs the skin on his hands raw. He can definitely still smell shit. And dust.

He nearly falls over twice on his way up the stairs - when did his legs start to feel so weak? - and when he makes it to his bedroom, he’s sure he’s about to pass out.

Charlie barrels past him, once again knocking him out of his daze, to close and lock the door.

“Okay, so you were definitely gone for way longer than two minutes dude,” He speeds through his words and Dennis squints in confusion at the change in mood. Charlie is very much Up and Present right now; voice slightly too loud for how quiet the room is, eyes too bright, practically vibrating with energy as he tries (and fails) to stand still in front of Dennis.

“Are you high?” Dennis asks, which definitely seems like a legitimate question, but Charlie just groans in annoyance.

“I’m always high! I was high when I got here, I got a little bit more high after the shower,” It’s at this point that Dennis remembers that Charlie doesn’t actually know what solvents are and therefore didn’t know what he wasn’t supposed to get high off of, “I just like being high dude, it helps!”

“Yeah, no, sure,” Dennis says. God, he wishes he was high. Oh. He could get high.

“Do you want a joint?” Charlie’s eyes seem to light up even more at the mention of weed and he nods feverishly.

Dennis pretends not to be concerned at the idea of Charlie mixing the effects of various solvents with weed (Charlie would just tell him to stop being such a downer if he were to say anything anyway) and goes to his bookshelf to get the Bible Mac has given him a couple of years ago. He’s cut out the inside (because, come on, he wasn’t about to start reading the fucking Bible) and retrieves what remains of the half ounce Mac had gifted him before he went off to camp. Dennis doesn’t want to think about just how much that means he’s been smoking alone and settles on the floor with his supplies.

Charlie sits cross legged on the floor opposite him in uncharacteristic silence as Dennis rolls. His fingers are shaking, which Charlie fortunately doesn’t comment on, and so the resulting joint is misshapen, yet still better than most of Mac’s attempts, and Dennis is sure that it’ll smoke okay.

“You can’t roll for shit, dude,” Charlie comments as Dennis taps the joint against the floor and Dennis feels the wave of rage bubble up in his chest much too quick for him to stop the outburst.

“You don’t have to smoke it,” Dennis snaps, regretting it instantly, the fear of inspiring another bout of Charlie’s dissociation reflexively closing up the back of his throat. But Charlie just laughs, and Dennis feels the tension melts away as quickly as it came

“I’m just saying, jeez,” Charlie stands, stretches up to the ceiling with a sigh and a groan and walks to the window, “Weed is weed.”

Charlie pushes the window open with no regard for the sound it makes, but Dennis figures that if they were going to get caught it would have happened by now. He watches Charlie climb out onto the porch roof with a surprising level of grace and then hold up a lighter, triumphantly sparking it as he motions for Dennis to follow suit. Dennis briefly wonders how it is possible that the lighter still works given how drenched in sewerage Charlie had been when he arrived at the house, but he’s not exactly surprised. Charlie has always been a little bit like a survival expert when it came to being well equipped for drug taking.

Dennis’ legs still feel far too weak as he stumbles out of the window and he’s thankful that Charlie doesn’t comment on the fact that he nearly trips, merely offering a hand to stabilise him instead. When their skin touches, Dennis has to swallow down the instinct to run as fast and as far away as possible and tries to casually shrug off the hand on his arm instead. He’s really trying very hard not to think about a single thing at the moment.

The silence outside is stifling. Like the library.

Charlie plucks the joint from Dennis’ fingers when he doesn’t move, shaking him out of his daze. Charlie sparks it himself and passes it back, barely taking a drag himself. The thank you gets stuck in Dennis’ throat.

“You good, dude?” Charlie asks, still too loud, still too eager. It makes Dennis’ head spin, but it is something to focus on; something that’s happening right here and right now. Dennis clenches his teeth and nods, “You should smoke, it’ll help.”

“It’ll help what? I’m fine,” Dennis is speaking through his teeth, his voice as shaky as his legs feel, but takes a drag on Charlie’s advice anyway and holds the smoke in his lungs until it burns, then exhales almost nothing into the night air, “I’m fine,” His second attempt barely sounds more convincing.

“You are. We’re both fine,” Charlie agrees but Dennis knows he doesn’t mean it, if Charlie’s laughter after the words are out are anything to go by. Dennis is sure that if he was less stressed, he would be laughing too. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t. The tension is building slowly, a deep ache in his muscles and he keeps coming back to the library and the dust and the books and the nails in his skin and the bile rising in the back of his throat and he’s just so, so, so angry at Charlie for seeming so fine right now after his breakdown downstairs and Dennis is very, very, very not fine and maybe that’s why he decides to get mean. It’s not his best decision.

“Is Uncle Jack visiting?” He asks, taking a hit from the joint once more before passing it back with a forced smile on his face. It’s sickly sweet and vindictive and doesn’t reach his eyes. The whole act catches Charlie off guard, but weed is weed so Charlie immediately starts smoking, coughs and then laughs. It rings as fake and forced in Dennis’ ears and the bile rises higher.

“Yeah, yeah,” He says, “It’s, uh, he’s not a cool dude. You know?”

Dennis hums, a baseline irritation running hot through his veins. Dennis is convinced that Charlie somehow managed to transfer the shitty, awful, gut-wrenching anxiety onto him through the touch to his arm earlier. His skin still feels like it’s on fire. His head is pounding. He can barely see. He feels weak. Not just physically. He refuses to breathe through his nose.

“I got raped by the school librarian,” Dennis hears someone say. He thinks it’s his own voice, but he’s almost certain he didn’t say it. He still can’t see clearly. He feels like he’s moving through quicksand. He can’t feel his legs. Time is an illusion and everything stands stock still in silence for a second.

“What?” Charlie asks, which, in his slightly disconnected state, Dennis figures is a completely fair response. Except now he can’t speak at all. His tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth, “Like, like our school? School librarian?”

Dennis nods, voice still stuck somewhere halfway down his throat, mixing with bile and cut off breaths and the faint lingering taste of weed. He feels Charlie attempt to hand the joint back to him, takes it, brings it to his lips. Inhales. The bile washes back down his throat with the smoke. He feels better, somehow. His limbs have come back to him, he can see Charlie staring at him with too wide, too worried eyes and lets out a bark of humourless laughter. It echoes around him and sounds foreign but the silence that follows is less deafening. 

“I was fourteen. I don’t want to talk about it. I just… I know what you mean,” The ‘What you’ve been through’ is unsaid.

“Okay, well,” Charlie starts. Stops. Sighs. Makes a weird shrieking sound from the back of his throat for a moment, but the sound doesn’t make Dennis’ hair stand up on end like it normally would. He feels like he’s floating. “Yeah, yeah, my uncle is…”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Dennis passes the joint back, half-finished now. The paper is burning faster on one side. He regrets mentioning Uncle Jack now that his own trauma feels slightly further away. It was unfairly cruel, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Um,” Charlie takes the joint, staring at it for a while before putting it between his lips. It’s gone out by this point. He relights it, thumb fumbling with the spark for a moment, then takes a drag, holds his breath, “Yeah, maybe...no? I don’t know.”

“We can just get high, dude,” Dennis interrupts him, unsure how many half sentences he can get through now that Charlie’s a ball of nervous energy again. He feels bad. Mean. A little bit sick. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should keep talking.

“I’m already high,” Charlie says with a laugh, passing the joint back again, “You finish the rest of that.”

Dennis leans his head back and closes his eyes, inhaling from the joint again. The buzz of the high warms through his body from the back of his neck. He smokes the joint down to the end in silence, but it isn’t sparking the same anxiety as it was before. He’s hovering just above the ground but his body feels heavy and solid in direct contrast to earlier, when he was convinced that the physical form was a myth. He’s never been so aware of being present before.

“So,” Charlie breaks the silence as Dennis flicks the end of the joint over the edge of the roof, “We’re both a little bit fucked up, huh?”

“You can say that again.”

“We’re both-”

“You don’t actually have to say it again.”

“Then why would you say it?”

“Because it’s a saying, Charlie!”

“But it isn’t even saying what it says-!”

“Oh my God, stop talking!” Dennis wouldn’t want to admit it when he’s sober, but he’s giggling. It’s nice. They do get along a lot better without Mac. He’s missed this. He pushes thoughts of Mac out of his head, persistent as they may be. That seems like one too many things to be considering for how intoxicated he is right now. 

They eventually climb back through the window into his bedroom, Dennis nearly collapsing onto the floor as they go, both of them laughing at nothing now. Dennis’ head feels fuzzy in the most comforting way, like nothing can penetrate the cotton wool armour that surrounds him.

“Do you want to stay in my bed?” Dennis asks, leaning against Charlie to keep himself upright. Their eyes meet and Dennis knows, he knows they’re too close, too much skin on too much skin, too warm and it feels like too much. Too much and not enough all at once.

“Why? Where are you going to sleep?”

“With me, idiot,” There’s no malice behind it, Dennis merely laughs, linking arms with Charlie to lead them to the bed. He lets his head drop to Charlie’s shoulder and sighs when they sit down. The room is spinning in the most delightful way and Charlie smells of his own shampoo.

One thing that Dennis would never (and he means never) admit to anyone, ever, at all, is that he’s maybe just a little bit interested in men and maybe also just a little bit inclined to get frisky when he’s high.

Well, Dee probably knew. Dennis wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to…well, anything really. He’d got drunk in his dorm room and called Dee to cry about Mac or Charlie (and maybe a couple of times about a guy from one of his classes, the asshole) enough times for her to figure that one out.

And, of course, there were only so many times that Dennis could suggest shot-gunning while him and Mac were sharing a joint before Mac clocked onto what was really going on. Not that he ever put a stop to any of it.

And, yes, okay, so maybe Charlie and Dennis had just outright made out before.

But Dennis wouldn’t actually ever admit to any of that.

It’s throughout this internal side monologue where Dennis realises that Charlie hasn’t exactly responded to his (flirty, overly enthusiastic, unsubtle) request for night-time company and a sudden wave of nausea inducing paranoia passes over him, winning out over the need for human contact.

He shuffles away from Charlie, disentangling their limbs as he goes, suddenly full of nervous energy, “Or like, do you not want...Do you want to stay in a guest room?”

“Dennis,” The sound cuts through his nerves and Dennis watches as Charlie reaches a hand out, nearly chasing after him. Stops. Brings his hand back to his lap. Dennis’ heart is going to beat out of his chest. He’s sure that it’s just because of how high he is but time feels like it’s moving at half speed. Charlie looks too far away and feels far too close.

“Let’s go to bed,” Charlie eventually breaks the silence and Dennis swears he can see a smile in his eyes for a split second just before he blinks. He has no idea what’s happening, but he can’t wait to find out.

Charlie crawls into the bed like it’s easy, like it’s his, like they’ve been here before and holds the comforter up for Dennis to slide in; an invitation. The bed itself is slightly larger than a single, but there still isn’t much space. Their knees knock together and Dennis feels the breath get knocked out of him in the process. He’s never been so glad that he doesn’t have a double in his life.

Dennis turns to the side table to turn the lamp off and now it’s just the moonlight streaming through the blinds that illuminates everything. He lays back down and their arms brush, static electricity shocking his skin but neither of them pull away. They put on a show for themselves of pretending to try and shift around to get comfortable, as if they’re going to sleep and end up dissolving into fits of giggles again. Charlie ends up leaning his head against Dennis’ shoulder before he looks up and their eyes meet.

The laughter stops.

“Are we going to have to spoon?” Charlie asks and Dennis hears a click from the back of his own throat. His mouth is dry, not solely because of the weed. That’s not what Charlie’s really asking. He hates that this is the most human contact he’s had since Dee got shipped off to the psych ward. It’s too much. Not enough. His skin is burning but he’s been so cold for so long.

“Would you want to?” They’re both whispering now, as if it makes any of this less real. As though, if they speak any louder, it will break the weird spell that they’re under. Dennis can hear his heart beating in his ears again, a dull, rhythmic thud that echoes around his skull. He much prefers this to the silence.

Dennis has a hand hesitantly resting on Charlie’s hip, thumb rubbing back and forth, occasionally slipping under the t-shirt to graze at Charlie’s skin. On his third pass he feels Charlie shift, just a touch, a breath closer. He presses forward too, minuscule movements, to meet Charlie’s hand as it travels up the side of his torso before moving to his chest and gripping at his t-shirt. They’re moving too fast. Too slow? Dennis can’t tell.

“Yeah,” It’s soft, Dennis almost can’t hear him. He almost doesn’t want to in case it breaks the spell. A drop of water falls from Charlie’s hair to his neck, tracing a path across his skin. Dennis can’t seem to focus on anything else , “Or we could…”

The next move is lightning fast and in seconds, Charlie has his leg wrapped around the back of Dennis’ and shifts closer, confident now. Dennis whimpers at the change, pleasantly surprised and increasingly overwhelmed, and parts his legs so that Charlie can press his thigh in between them.

“Okay, okay, fuck,” Dennis breaths out, still sure to keep the quiet in place, but he lifts his hips up to rock gently against Charlie, moan caught in his throat. He’s embarrassingly half hard already but Charlie shifts to grind up against him the same and he realises he’s not the only one, relief and pleasure watching over him at once, “You sure?”

Charlie only laughs in response and leans up, their chests nearly flush, to catch Dennis’ earlobe between his teeth and pulls, “Are you sure?” He blows against the wet patch of skin and Dennis can’t maintain a single coherent thought beyond-

“Please,” It’s all that Dennis can choke out and then they’re kissing. It’s wet and messy and hot and their teeth knock together on the first pass, which has them both swearing before moving back in again.

They’ve kissed before. Here (although not exactly in bed), under the bleachers (while skipping class, of course, mostly while high), Mac’s house while Mac was asleep (many times, drunkenly and not for very long, for fear of waking Mac), a couple of times while Mac was awake (quietly, less drunkenly and for even shorter) and one time directly in front of Mac (loudly, in response to a dare, definitely for show and certainly was not followed by one of the above). Just before he left for college (sad and soft and sweet and sober and way too short). In the back of Dennis’ car (too many times to count). Once in the back of Dee’s (certainly not their proudest moment).

This time feels different, feels real, but Dennis is acutely aware that Charlie is only here, in his house, his room, his bed, his arms, because he had to run away from home from his visiting childhood sexual abuser. Dennis is acutely aware of the fact that he’s only just admitted to being a victim of child sexual assault himself. He knows that this - whatever this turns out to be - is quite possibly the least healthy thing that the two of them could possibly be doing right now.

His suspicions are confirmed the moment he attempts to roll them over so he can settle on top of Charlie and immediately gets pushed halfway off of the bed, move punctuated by a signature Charlie scream.

“Am I really that bad of a kisser?” Dennis tries to joke, but moves to lay back down at Charlie’s side, so that they’re both looking at the ceiling, arms almost touching.

“You can’t be on top of me,” Charlie says, voice shaky and weak and, even in the haze of his high, Dennis can guess why that is, “I can’t deal with the weight of it, it, it like…”

“That’s okay,” Dennis says, nodding, even though in the grand scheme of everything, he’s pretty sure nothing is ever okay. He lets his hand move (mainly of its own accord, he swears, he isn’t doing this consciously) to hold Charlie’s hand, lacing their fingers together and rubbing his thumb against Charlie’s skin, “We’ve got to set ground rules, I guess.”

Charlie hums in agreement and squeezes Dennis’ hand. They don’t look at each other yet; it all feels a little too real, too close.

“If either of us want to stop, we just say and it stops,” Dennis starts, hears the sheets rustle next to him as Charlie nods and sighs, nearly exasperated, “And you have to use actual words. Otherwise I don’t know what you want from me and things might go wrong.”

“Okay, okay. You can’t be on top of me,” Charlie replies, “And no pet names.”

“Yeah, I second that one,” Dennis finds himself saying, but his brain is drifting to thoughts of a library again. Sickly sweet whispers of generic, impersonal nicknames, like he could have been anyone, like she could have chosen anyone, like it had all been a game of chance and he’d lost by simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time one time. A squeeze of his hand brings him back.

“If you start spacing out, what do I do?” Charlie asks and Dennis holds back the urge to scoff and ask what he’s talking about. He focuses on the way Charlie’s thumb is moving back and forth against the back of his hand. When did they switch?

“Just… Just stop and try and bring me out of it. Gently,” Dennis’ eyes glance over to Charlie, who’s still staring at the ceiling, so he looks back up too, but lets his eyes flicker back over occasionally, “Don’t cover my mouth or put your hands around my neck,” Now he can see Charlie, the flashbacks seem a lot easier to manage.

“You can’t pull my hair either,” Charlie says, then turns his head to face Dennis, so Dennis follows suit and now they’re both on their sides, almost close enough to feel each other’s breath, “That’s it.”

“You can pull mine,” Dennis finds himself replying, “You can definitely pull mine,” Well, they were trying to be honest with each other. Dennis glances down to Charlie’s mouth; lips wet, parted slightly, there’s barely inches between them, “That’s it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Dennis surges forward to shut them both up, impatience winning out, and presses his lips against Charlie’s again. He sucks Charlies bottom lip in between his teeth and tugs, before swiping a tongue over the bite. Charlie groans in the back of his throat and immediately yanks at the hair at the base of Dennis’ neck, fingers intertwined in the curls. Dennis arches into the touch, skin set alight with the sting and pulls Charlie’s hips closer.

It’s frenzied and messy and Charlie tastes a little bit like-

“Did you drink the bleach?” Dennis asks, pulling away, hands still clutching onto Charlie’s hips. The kissing was important but this was definitely a far bigger concern right now.

“I’ve had bleach before, dude, not a big deal.”

Dennis rolls his eyes, suddenly calmer at the revelation, happy there was no immediate danger and yet increasingly concerned in a more general sense for Charlie’s well-being, “How are you not dead yet?”

He’s got his lips pressed against Charlie’s jaw before he gets an answer. Well, he wasn’t going to go back to the mouth full of bleach, was he?

Dennis is moving slower now, mouthing against Charlie’s neck, edging slowly downwards. He shifts the t-shirt - his t-shirt, he hums at the realisation - out of the way to suck a mark against Charlie’s collarbone. Pulls skin taut between his teeth and breaths out over the red mark as he pulls away.

Charlie’s hands are in his hair, pulling tight again as he shifts his thigh to slot between Charlie’s own, grinding upwards and-

“Fuck,” Charlie breaths, so quiet Dennis can barely hear him, but he can feel him, hard against his leg. He presses a hand against Charlie’s stomach under the t-shirt, cold fingers against hot skin eliciting a gasp and then he’s moving again.

Dennis pushes the t-shirt up so its bunched up under Charlie’s armpits, then pulls away slightly to shift under the comforter, moving ever lower at an excruciatingly slow pace. He shifts so he can kiss against Charlie’s chest, tongue flicking over one nipple as he pulls the other gently between his fingers. He goes to push Charlie onto his back and then stops, very nearly forgetting their guidelines - he blames the weed - and instead shuffles back up the bed so they’re face to face again.

“Can you sit on the edge of the bed?” Dennis asks, breath hot against Charlie’s ear, pressing another kiss against his neck, then a bite, then a soothing flick of the tongue. It sends Charlie into a slightly less coherent state.

“Why?” Charlie responds, very eloquently, so Dennis lets out a breath of laughter and climbs out of the bed to kneel on the floor, “Oh.”

Charlie looks, well, wrecked as he sits up. Mouth open, bruise forming at the base of his neck, t-shirt riding up against his stomach. The joggers Dennis had given him to wear are not helping to disguise anything; Dennis’ eyes drop to Charlie’s lap, cock straining against the soft material.

“You sure?” Charlie asks and Dennis nods vehemently, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed on his knees. He wonders if he should speak, but from the way Charlie is watching him with unrestrained awe in his eyes, he thinks he’s probably hit the jackpot with this plan, “Fuck, okay.”

Charlie moves into the gap that’s left and as soon as his feet are planted on the floor, Dennis reaches out to run a hand up his thigh.

“You’ve done this before?” It sounds almost like a question coming from Charlie, but there’s something in his tone that suggests he knows Dennis has. He’s not wrong. Sex is a lot easier for Dennis when he doesn’t have to be reminded of, well, the library. So, sucking dick was probably the furthest away he could get from what happened with the librarian. And maybe he was a little bit interested in men, too, but that wasn’t all that important.

“A few times,” Dennis mumbles, suddenly self-conscious about all of this - namely the having had a dick in his mouth before thing, since he was, you know, straight - until Charlie tucks two fingers under Dennis’ chin and tilts his head up so their eyes meet.

“It’s just me.”

“I know, Charlie.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Dennis doesn’t answer ‘Because it’s you’, even though it’s the truth. That’s a whole nother can of worms that Dennis is going to pretend don’t exist and push to the back of his head. Things like Mac and Being Aware Of Emotions. Instead, he passes a hand over Charlie’s groin - a barely there touch that has Charlie lifting his hips up to chase it - and rests his hand against Charlie’s stomach again. His fingers splay out across Charlie’s abdomen and he can feel every tensing of muscles under his skin as Dennis teases him mercilessly.

His other hand skirts across the edge of Charlie’s pants, fingers dipping under the fabric slightly before pulling away to massage at Charlie’s inner thigh for a moment too short, then moving back again.

“Dennis,” It’s barely his name; more of a groan resonating from Charlie’s chest. He can feel it vibrate across Charlie’s stomach; it makes his own stomach flip.

“Patience is a virtue,” Dennis replies, leaning in to mouth against Charlie’s cock through the joggers, humming when Charlie’s hips lift up again.

“Dude, don’t quote the Bible at me at a time like this.”

Dennis sits up, eyebrows furrowed. He can’t help but question it, in spite of the situation they’re currently in, even though he knows it’s a pointless argument to start. He’s never been the smartest individual and being high only exacerbates the problem. He can’t help it, though, “The Bible?”

“Yeah, that’s a Bible quote.”

“No, it’s not,” Dennis still has a hand resting on Charlie’s stomach, can feel Charlie tense up and expects a shriek-like response.

“It totally is!” He knew it. He knew it would happen. He shouldn’t have said a single word. His brain is fighting with itself; the ‘I told you so’ echoing.

“Charlie,” Dennis tries to make it sound inviting, seductive, but he comes off as a little bit patronising, like he always does, which only spurs on Charlie’s idiocy.

“I went to a Church school, you have literally cut out the middle of your Bible, I think I know the word of the Lord better than you.”

“You sound like Mac,” Dennis doesn’t mean to say it, or at least doesn’t mean for it to sound so irritated but it shuts Charlie up quick. Perhaps that wasn’t the solution Dennis should have gone with in retrospect.

They look at each other for a moment, silence stretching the seconds out. Maybe mentioning Mac while he was kneeling between Charlie’s legs wasn’t one of Dennis’ best decisions. His fingers dance against Charlie’s stomach, a nervous movement. What would Mac say if he could see them now? Nope, bad thoughts, bad thoughts.

“Well, I don’t think I want to fuck Jesus that badly,” Charlie breaks the tension and Dennis laughs, probably louder than the joke deserved but it’s mainly from relief. He leans back down to press a kiss against where Charlie’s waistband meets skin. He knows what he’s doing again; this is safe.

“Is this okay?” Dennis asks, ghosting a hand over Charlie’s crotch again, touch barely there.

“It would be more okay if you’d touch me properly,” Charlie mutters and Dennis can’t help but laugh, then complies with the request anyway. 

“Lift your hips up for me,” Dennis murmurs, pulling away to slide his fingers underneath the sweatpants. Charlie shifts his weight onto his hands and Dennis pulls the pants down to rest at his ankles, leaving Charlie’s boxers-well, his boxers technically, on.

“Dennis, don’t be such a fucking tease,” Charlie tries to say, but it dissolved into a hiss and then a groan when Dennis nuzzles his face against his crotch. Dennis hums, low in his throat as he presses his mouth against Charlie’s cock, breath hot, tongue leaving damp patches against the fabric. Dennis has missed this; the mind-numbing act of giving head while high, the lack of a need to think about anything other than trying to encourage noises out of the person who’s thighs he’s between.

His brain is still floating away to think about stupid things, though, like Mac and Feelings and The Library and Whether Or Not He’s Doing This Right so he says something that he definitely wouldn’t have done if he wasn’t extremely high right now.

“I know I said no pet names,” Dennis begins, and maybe he’s trying to use his seductive voice, pulling back slightly to bite at Charlie’s thigh, “But I wouldn’t mind, like, degrading names. Name calling, you know?”

Dennis isn’t really in the right place to be psychoanalysing himself right now (or, like, ever), but he can at least admit that he knows this is a long shot and definitely not healthy. He wasn’t sure that asking the people he slept with to call him ‘slut’ instead of ‘sweetheart’ was particularly normal behaviour. He supposes, though, that he’s a little lost in the feeling of being sat between Charlie’s legs, so he isn’t necessarily that embarrassed when he lets the request slip. He hides his face still, sucking another mark into the skin of Charlie’s inner thigh.

“Hm?” Charlie eventually responds - clearly distracted - and Dennis pauses his assault against Charlie’s thighs to look up. As expected, Charlie’s eyes are mostly closed, and his head is tilted back. Well, now is as good a time as any.

“Like, I don’t know, something a little insulting,” Charlie’s eyes are open now, staring at him in confusion and Dennis finally loses his nerve. He’d tried this once with a Junior; a dark haired Ethics major from another dorm he’d met at a house party had ended up walking out on him when he’d mentioned having a minor humiliation kink, and now he’s wondering if history is about to repeat itself. Ethics, of all things. You’d think he’d have been a little nicer about it, “Whatever, don’t worry about it.”

He goes to move back in towards Charlie’s crotch, attempting to skip over his own weed-induced proposal, but Charlie grabs him by the hair and pulls, which tilts his head back up so their eyes meet. Fuck, right, okay. He may or may not let out a whine in response. It may or may not have been met with another tug on his hair. Dennis’ eyes flutter shut for a second as blood blooms under the skin across his cheeks. Okay, yeah, this is perfect.

“Like what?” Dennis tries to shrug, blinking his eyes open again, which makes a flash of a smirk pass over Charlie’s face and Dennis feels a delicious kind of heat building in the pit of his stomach, “C’mon Den, use your words.”

Dennis doesn’t know whether he wants to punch him or kiss him. He’d do both if Charlie asked. He’s pretty sure he’d do just about anything Charlie asked him to right now.

“I don’t kn-ah,” Another tug to the back of his hair. Okay, so Charlie seemed to be into that at least. That boded well for the rest of his request, “Like, whore or, I don’t know, something… Mean. Humiliating.”

Charlie blinks, slow, fingers scratching at the base of Dennis’s neck and Dennis almost closes his eyes at the touch. The need to behave for Charlie wins out, though, and he blinks his eyes open again, gaze focused on Charlie expectantly. He’s got to stay focused. He nearly hates how much this is turning him on. He’s going to end up coming in his fucking pants at this rate. It’s heaven.

“Something mean,” Charlie mutters under his breath, calculated. Dennis can count on one hand the times he’s seen Charlie committed to actual critical thought. It’s almost hot. Well, it’s incredibly hot but Dennis certainly doesn’t want to admit that to himself.

As if hearing Dennis’ internal monologue, Charlie pushes Dennis back down towards his crotch, who moans, mouth wet against Charlie’s boxers again. Dennis reaches a hand up to stroke slowly, teasingly against Charlie’s thigh before slipping under the waistband.

“Please, Charlie, hips,” Dennis mutters as he tries to pull the boxers down Charlie’s thighs. Charlie shifts and in seconds, Charlie’s cock is staring Dennis in the face.

“Impatient bitch,” Charlie half-whispers, fingers winding back into Dennis’ hair again, then, an actual whisper, like he doesn’t want to break the spell they’re under, “Are you sure this is okay?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?” Dennis responds, then, as if to prove a point, licks the flat of his tongue over the head of Charlie’s cock, which makes Charlie’s hips twitch up. Dennis could get lost in this for hours. He can feel a buzzing under his skin, nerves set alight as a shiver runs down the length of his spine.

“Tell me if you want to stop and I’ll stop,” Charlie says, still caring, still worried. Dennis nods in response and sets to work at making Charlie forget that promise.

Dennis presses hot, wet, open mouth kisses down the side of Charlie’s length, hand gripped tight at Charlie’s thigh. He hums, vibrations going straight through Charlie and out through his throat in the form of a groan. Dennis takes this as encouragement (it's been a while, he’s worried he’s out of practice, the weed not helping that particular concern) and moves lower, tongue teasing at Charlie’s balls, earning him another pull on his hair, this one far less aggressive, almost like Charlie’s trying to ground himself. It sends a blip of pride through Dennis’ chest.

“You’re good at this,” Charlie says, almost absentmindedly, like he doesn’t even realise he’s said it and Dennis is bewildered at how it makes him blush. That sort of response to praise is a new one; one he’s not quite sure how to feel about. He moves backwards a little, waits for Charlie to look down at him; waits for Charlie’s attention. Charlie’s eyes lock with his, silently asking why things have stopped. Dennis watches, smirk dancing across his face until Charlie looks like he’s about to ask what’s wrong, then he takes Charlie into his mouth.

He moves down too fast, out of practice, isn’t careful by any means and very nearly chokes himself. It’s all worth it, though, for the way it makes Charlie’s eyes flutter shut; the way Charlie’s hand goes lax and just starts brushing through his hair; the sound that comes out of Charlie’s mouth, a breathy gasp and then a half moan, half sigh on the exhale.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Charlie isn’t forming any actual, coherent words anymore, it’s more just noises, but Dennis can mostly piece together what he wants to say. Dennis barely pulls back to catch his breath, then moves back down again, taking more of Charlie into his mouth; wills his throat to relax as he shifts forward a little more. He nearly gags again but manages to breathe through it before closing the gap, so his nose is pressed against Charlie’s crotch and it’s at that moment that Charlie breaks.

“Fuck, Dennis, such a good cockslut for me, aren't you?" Charlie yanks at Dennis' hair to pull him off and Dennis is seeing stars. He looks up to see Charlie mouth 'Is this okay?', to which he nods, vigorously.

"Yeah, yes, Charlie please," He can't imagine how desperate he looks right now, how desperate he sounds. He wants Charlie to tell him, but then Charlie lets go of his hair and he plunges forward like a man starved.

Charlie’s babbling now, almost entirely nonsensical curses, half moans of Dennis’ name, the occasional ‘slut’ when Dennis hums around his cock and each time it sends a jolt of pleasure straight down to Dennis' crotch.

He eases back, setting a too-slow rhythm that he can almost get lost in, holding back a little, no longer testing his gag reflex. He's teasing, he knows that. He wants another reaction; another tug at his hair so hard that he gets pulled off of Charlie's cock, another dizzying outburst of curses and slurs, a slap to the face, something.

“Dennis, faster,” Charlie chokes out. Perfect. Dennis pulls back and then stops; lips barely wrapped around the head of Charlie's cock. He teases at the slit with his tongue, soft, barely there touches. He misses it, wants far more than what he's giving himself, but he won't say a word. He knows exactly what he’s doing as he looks up at Charlie through his eyelashes, trying to ask for what he wants, beg for it with his gaze.

"Tease," Is all that Charlie says before pressing his thumb against the hinge of Dennis' jaw to force his mouth open and then he's fucking his cock up into Dennis' mouth, other hand pressing against the back of his neck. Dennis' eyes fall shut and lets himself nearly go slack in Charlie's hands; just allows Charlie to take over. It's utter bliss.

Dennis brings his hand to his lap, just pressing the heel of his palm against his cock through his trousers. It’s embarrassing, almost unbearably so. He feels heat flood his cheeks at just how turned on he is right now; how much his cock aches at being on his knees, between someone’s thighs while Charlie, of all people, fucks his face. He presses a hand down harder but doesn’t dare slip his fingers underneath his waistband. Not now. Not yet. He’s not sure he’s ever going to want this feeling to stop: needy, aching, blissed out beyond belief and flying higher than he ever has before. He can’t focus on anything else, like why he’s so strung out and content at the hands of Charlie fucking Kelly, or what Mac would think if he saw them in the state they’re in, or what’s going to happen in the morning when his parents wake up. He tucks each and every thought away in the back of his head and just lets his mind go completely blank, focuses on the absolute darkness behind his eyelids, feels every single cell of his body scream out in white hot pleasure.

Charlie pulls out then and Dennis blinks his eyes open, whining at the loss of something in his mouth. He stares at Charlie, his jaw slack and his pupils blown wide and dark, as Charlie grips his cock at the base. From how wrecked Charlie looks - neck flushed, lips red and swollen and wet and pulled up into an awed smile - Dennis can’t fathom what state he’s currently in. He can feel spit start to drip down his chin. Almost crazed, he attempts to move back in; to swallow Charlie’s cock down his throat again but he’s held in place by Charlie’s hand on his shoulder, half pushing him back, half steadying him. Dennis lets out another annoyed whine, words failing him.

“Jesus, you’re literally chasing after my cock, Dennis,” It comes out of Charlie’s mouth sounding more like amazement than anything else, but Dennis drops his eyes to the floor out of humiliation anyway. This is perfect. This is awful. He wants the ground to swallow him up but in the best way possible. He wonders, momentarily, if he’s too messy, too needy, too much. There’s this sharp, stabbing pain at the back of his throat that comes and goes, delicious but also unbearably painful; a fear that he’s not good enough, a worry that Charlie’s going to stop this, doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him. It dissipates completely, however, when Charlie tilts his face up so their eyes meet, and Charlie looks like a man starved. The expression changes almost instantly to one of worry, “You okay? This is still okay, right?”

“Yes, please, it’s perfect,” It’s the first words he’s said in a while and his voice is a mess; hoarse and broke and Charlie lets out a surprised laugh, breaking the tension in the room.

“Okay, okay, it’s just that you look… Well, you look like a fucking mess, dude.”

“It’s your fault,” Dennis rushes out and tries to press forward again and this time, Charlie lets him, feeding his cock back up into Dennis’s mouth.

They’re no longer playing a game with each other anymore; Charlie pushes his hips up to meet Dennis every time he moves down and eventually, finally, Charlie’s hips start to stutter. He pulls back again, and Dennis lets out a groan as he’s held in place again.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just, I’m close. Where...I mean, what do you want me to...?” Charlie trails off, head tilted to the side and Dennis blinks up at him twice before he realises what’s going on. It’s maybe the most considerate thing someone’s ever done for Dennis - asking where Dennis wants him to cum. Usually it’s boys from college spilling directly down his throat without so much as a sound of warning. Something clicks in Dennis’ head and now he’s completely and utterly at ease. He knows Charlie said it at least twice, but it makes him realise, truly realise, that Charlie really would have stopped whenever, if Dennis had at all wanted him to. Dennis feels this deep, yearning ache in his chest and wants to take anything and everything that Charlie is willing to give him.

“Just cum in my mouth,” Dennis rushes out, looking up with expectant eyes and he watches as a glint of something flashes across Charlie’s eyes. Charlie brushes a thumb, soft, across Dennis’ jawline and Dennis, whilst this is nice, misses the roughness, the tension, the danger of before.

“Why don’t you ask me nicely, slut,” It’s Charlie’s final gift to Dennis, before this all ends and it sends Dennis’ head spinning, he very nearly cums himself. He lets out a choked moan and flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and then he’s begging.

“Charlie, please. Please, I’ve been so good for you, please just cum in my mouth. I deserve it, please?”

“Fuck,” Is all Charlie can whisper, then he presses a thumb between Dennis’ lips, which Dennis immediately sucks into his mouth, “Fuck, open up for me?”

Dennis complies and Charlie wipes his spit-slicked thumb across Dennis’ cheek before pushing his cock between Dennis’ lips again. Seconds later, he’s spilling down Dennis’ throat with a groan, fingers tangled in Dennis’ hair to hold him in place. Dennis swallows around him until Charlie’s hips stop stuttering and pulls back to lick him clean. Charlie wipes up the mess left on his chin and feeds his fingers back between Dennis’ lips, which he sucks clean with a moan.

He’s still hard, achingly so, and slips a hand down his sweatpants, fingers wrapped clumsily around his own cock.

“Wait, wait,” Charlie calls out, still dazed from his own orgasm as he moves off of the bed and onto the floor, practically climbing into Dennis’s lap. His lips are against Dennis’ in an instant, kissing away the mess that remains coating Dennis’ mouth and chin. Dennis collapses into it, letting Charlie lick, messy and rushed, into his mouth; tilts his head back to let Charlie kiss down his neck and suck marks into his skin. 

Charlie grabs Dennis’ arm by the wrist and pulls his hand out of his pants, then replaces it with his own. He grips at Dennis’ cock, skin already slick from precum, and strokes quick and tight, lips moving up so he can nuzzle right behind Dennis’ ear, “You really get off on sucking my dick, don’t you Den?”

That’s really all Charlie needs to say. Dennis cries out at the words as he spills over Charlie’s fingers, his own hands gripping at Charlie’s shoulders to keep himself upright. His hips twitch up to meet Charlie’s touches until he gets too sensitive and pushes at Charlie’s arm. When Charlie lets go, Dennis lets himself fall forwards to lean up against Charlie, pressing kisses against his mouth and jaw until they eventually half-collapse onto the floor beside the bed.

Dennis pulls his t-shirt up over his head and uses it to wipe himself down, passing it over to Charlie who cleans the drying cum off of his fingers before laying back down on the floor with a sigh. His boxers and sweatpants are still caught around his ankles, so he pulls them back up to warm his quickly cooling skin and then reaches out almost blindly for Dennis.

Charlie’s hands are everywhere, combing softly through his hair, caressing up and down his arms before reaching a stop at his waist and the small of his back. Their legs tangle up together and Dennis grips at Charlie’s t-shirt before looking up and pressing a very, very soft kiss to Charlie’s lips, then nudges forward an inch so their foreheads touch.

“Hi there,” Dennis says, voice somehow worse than it was before; croaky and pitchy, but Charlie barely seems to notice, just smiles softly.

“Hi,” It’s a breath of a word; a whisper, air just passing over Dennis’ face. Dennis almost doesn’t hear him from how heavy his own breathing is. They don’t move for a moment: a long moment. If Dennis were to guess, he’d say it was probably about 1am now, and the only things he can hear are their ragged breaths and his pounding heart rate rushing through his ears. He doesn’t mind the silence at all anymore.

“We should get into bed.”

“Yeah.”

But neither of them make any move towards the bed at all. Charlie is so quiet that Dennis would think he was asleep if he wasn’t looking directly into his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Dennis asks eventually, breaking the silence with a voice barely above a whisper. Charlie has been checking in so constantly, so diligently that he feels an urge to return the favour now that it’s all over.

“Yeah, dude, that was like, insane,” Charlie laughs, tilts forward to press a kiss against Dennis’ nose and Dennis is convinced that his heart stops for a second, “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” He sighs, content but he knows that this can’t last.

Mac is coming back in a few days and, as much as they’d both deny it until they were blue in the face, Dennis knows that he and Charlie are both a little bit hung up on the Catholic dumbass; knows that when the three of them are together again, he and Charlie will start their rivalry of vying for Mac’s attention back up again.

“Let’s get into bed.”

They do make it to the bed this time, stumbling, trying to keep a hold of each other, as though when they let go the spell will break. As soon as they’re under the comforter, they’re kissing again, slowly, almost painfully so. Dennis sucks Charlie’s bottom lip in between his own and lets out a half-broken moan, pulling away for a second only to slot their lips together again in an instant. Every touch sets his skin alight, every pass of Charlie’s lips against his own burning, burning too hot and too cold all at once. He’s not sure how long they spend like this, mouths moving languidly against one another, shared breath hot between them as they shift to break apart only to pull each other back in, quiet noises of contentment caught in the back of throats. They eventually, finally, slow to a stop, with Charlie pressing soft, fleeting kisses against Dennis’ nose, his cheeks, his jaw and then presses their foreheads together again.

“What are we doing?” He asks and Dennis can feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest, clawing its way up through his throat and out through his mouth. He can’t seem to catch his breath, so he pulls away, looks away and shakes his head.

“No, not right now.”

“Dennis-”

“We’re not talking about this! We should sleep,” His voice is pitched too high, too strained, doesn’t sound like him and suddenly every thought he’d spent the past couple of hours pushing to the back of his mind come flooding in all at once. He can hear Mac’s voice, shocked, mocking, disappointed and disgusted when he realises what he and Charlie got up to in his absence. His muscles are tense, he’s frozen in place, can’t move, can’t see properly, vision blurry, hearing muffled so he can’t catch what Charlie’s muttering into his ear.

It’s only when Dennis feels fingers linking with his own and a squeeze of his hand that he manages to come to.

“Dennis,” His eyes meet Charlie’s, who looks so… Sad. Pitying. He hates it. Any shred of contentment that Dennis had left is gone, replaced with a nausea that sits low at the pit of his stomach, “Let's just move past it. You still with me?”

Dennis absolutely detests the fact that he’s the one that needs looking after, when Charlie was the one who fled to his house in the middle of the night. It makes him feel weak.

He doesn’t say anything, just nods and Charlie’s still holding his hand which suddenly feels very warm. Dennis finds himself being scooped up into Charlie’s arms, his head pushed into the crevice of Charlie’s neck, held tight. The pressure is good; grounding, and he feels a little safer. A little more in his body and out of his head. Every inch of his body that’s pressed against Charlie’s feels like it’s on fire. He can’t tell if he likes it or not.

Before too long, Charlie’s breathing evens out into a comforting rhythm, even if it is tickling Dennis’ hair, even if the bed is a little too warm, even if he’s sobering up now and he’s sure he can smell cheese on Charlie and why didn’t he notice that earlier when he literally had Charlie’s dick in his mouth or his tongue down his throat and-

Dennis is asleep before he knows it.

~~~

When Dennis wakes up, his first thought is that he really regrets falling asleep without brushing his teeth. His second is that his head feels like his brain is trying to claw its way out of his skull through his eyes. His third is that there is a body in his bed that isn’t his, which results in his fourth: to punch the offending individual dead in the face.

Fortunately for the sleeping Charlie, Dennis doesn’t have very good aim, half asleep or otherwise, and so the punch doesn’t land, but it does wake Charlie up who, of course, feels that it is important to scream.

“What the fuck dude!” Are the specific words that Charlie decides to scream, which cut through Dennis’ ears like a very sharp knife and provoke his own shout in return.

“I forgot you were here!” Dennis at least he tries to shout, but his voice doesn’t seem to want to do that, instead failing into a scratchy, pitchy whine, the words ripping painfully through Dennis’ throat.

They seem to recall the events of the night prior at the same time, both dropping their hands from poorly formed fighting stances to merely stare at each other curiously. Dennis breaks the eye contact first, head in too much pain to comprehend how to deal with the situation. He spins around in search of the glass of water on his bedside table and silently thanks his past self for the forethought, but only manages to down half of it before it’s snatched from his grasp.

“Dick,” Dennis mutters, definitely not watching the way Charlie’s neck moves as he drinks. Nope, he’s certainly not doing that. Dennis is sober. And straight. And it's the daytime and Charlie does not have an attractive neck. He doesn’t have an attractive anything. Dennis is straight.

“Shut up,” Charlie replies half-heartedly, passing the glass back as a smile breaks out across his face, which sends Dennis’ head spinning, and he shakes his head, “Last night was new.”

Dennis hums in agreement, placing the glass back on his side table and checks the time so that he doesn’t have to think about the specifics of what was ‘new’ exactly. Two in the afternoon. Thank fuck for that.

“Well, no one came in to kill me this morning, so we can assume that the carpet was clean enough,” He climbs out of bed, legs shaky, in search of painkillers and definitely not as a way to put some distance between himself and Charlie, but as luck would have it, Charlie catches his arm once his feet hit the floor, “What?”

“I can stay here again tonight, right?” Dennis’ stomach does a strange flip when he looks down at Charlie, wrapped up in his clothes and his bed with his hand on his arm and remembers that Charlie came here to avoid his uncle. He did not come here for casual sex. Dennis does not feel weird because he divulged all of his own secrets about his own trauma. He does not worry that they were both in vulnerable states and that they made a mistake by hooking up because that might lead to feelings neither of them are ready to deal with. He certainly does not worry about what’s going to happen between them now that Charlie is seemingly staying here indefinitely. He doesn’t think about any of these things because Dennis knows that he is fine and sane and straight and not traumatised by anything in his past at all Thank You Very Much. But, you know, for Charlie’s sake, maybe he’s a little concerned. Empathy and all.

“Yeah, of course,” Dennis answers, hoping it would make Charlie let go of his arm. It doesn’t. Charlie merely loosens his grip, so his hand slips down the length of Dennis’ arm and now Charlie’s thumb is stroking back and forth across the inside of Dennis’ wrist and the touch is too soft and the room is too warm and Charlie is looking at him with a far too soft and a far too warm gaze, “What?”

Charlie cracks a grin, letting go of Dennis’ wrist after what feels like hours and now Dennis can breathe a little easier “Your voice is so fucked, dude.”

Oh. Well, that was…Not exactly what Dennis was expecting. He’s a little disappointed and also a little relieved but he can’t work out why. His heart feels caught in his throat and he can barely force air in and out of his lungs around it.

“Well...that’s your fault,” Dennis stumbles out, not mean or sharp or argumentative, just stating a fact, voice almost monotone bar the scratchiness coming from his wrecked throat. He finds himself stepping away slightly too fast towards the door, every inch of distance between them making it a little easier to breathe. His legs still feel so unstable, “I’m getting some Aspirin.”

“Get me some!”

“No,” Dennis says, deadpan tone clashing shockingly against Charlie’s upbeat one, and practically falls out of the room and into the corridor.

Once the door is closed, he sinks to the floor, back pressed hard against the wall behind him, seeking some kind of pressure while he tries very, very hard not to have a panic attack. He scratches at where Charlie had had his hand around his wrist, like he’s trying to get the ghost of the touch off of him. Maybe he is a bit worried that he was a little too vulnerable when they hooked up, and maybe he does have some feelings about it (and maybe some of them are feelings about Charlie specifically) and maybe, maybe, he isn’t completely, 100% exactly straight. But who is? Really? When you think about it? And maybe there’s a part of his brain that’s screaming out in fear. A fear that now that they’ve hooked up once; that Dennis gave himself over so willingly and easily and was so pliant and needy and wanted it so badly, that Charlie thinks he’s entitled to something from him again.

It’s not that he wouldn’t want something again, maybe, possibly, at some point in the future, when he’s drunk or high or sad or scared or a combination of all of the above, but he doesn’t want it to be expected of him. To be demanded of him. Doesn’t want someone else who expects anything from him. Not again. Not ever again.

And Dennis knows, somewhere, deep in that maze of a brain of his that Charlie isn’t that type of person. He knows that Charlie has enough of his own trauma not to worsen his own. He knows Charlie wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt him. Probably. But logic has never been his strong suit. And besides, people can look kind right up until the second that they press a knife to your throat. Husbands shoot their wives every day. Mothers drown their babies. And librarians and uncles rape the children in their care.

He’s scratched at the skin of his arm so hard he’s drawn blood, but at least he can’t feel anything anymore.

Almost on autopilot, Dennis makes his way to the bathroom and rummages through the cupboards for painkillers. When he faces himself in the mirror, he can’t recognise the person staring back at him, dead stare meeting dead stare. He blinks and the reflection blinks too. He runs a hand through his hair, watching the person in the mirror do the same, but he can’t feel the hair in his hand. He can’t feel his hand at all. He’s seeing through his eyes and watching his body from above at the same time.

He tries to look down, away from the terrifying reflection that reminds him of himself, turns the faucet on and runs his wrists under the water, one still bleeding. He watches as rust coloured water swirls down the drain and realises that he isn’t in any pain. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing. The cold shocks him back into his body long enough for him to swallow a couple aspirin and brush his teeth. He avoids looking at his reflection as much as possible as he goes, places his toothbrush back into the holder, turns to leave, turns back to grab the bottle of aspirin. Charlie has asked for some, hadn’t he? Dennis can’t recognise the hand holding the bottle.

When he returns to the room, disorientated, dizzy, Charlie’s sitting up in bed in a hoodie. His hoodie. His Penn State hoodie. It unsettles his stomach and makes his head spin and he opens his mouth to say something but he’s not sure if any words make it out. He’s not sure what they would be if they did.

He sees Charlie get out of bed and approach him, eyes narrowed, mouth moving like he’s saying something, but Dennis can’t hear anything but a muffled ringing. Charlie reaches out his hands, slowly, like he’s scared Dennis will run - as if Dennis could run - and he gently, carefully, takes Dennis’ hands into his own, interlocking their fingers. Dennis wonders when he dropped the bottle of Aspirin. Charlie squeezes, pauses, squeezes again and Dennis realises he’s supposed to squeeze back during the breaks. The cycle repeats until he can feel the pressure properly again; until he can feel the muscles in his arms tense as he goes through the motions, until he’s seeing through his eyes and not watching all of this happen, floating just above his body. Grounded again, but for how long this time he’s not quite sure.

“You good?” Charlie asks, giving his hands a final squeeze, letting go when Dennis nods, half in shock at being able to hear again.

“Sorry,” Dennis says, because it seems like the right thing to do, but Charlie just shakes his head, eyebrows drawn together in… anger? Concern? Dennis can’t tell. His voice sounds foreign, but he knows it’s his from how his throat vibrates.

“For what?” It’s a question that shouldn’t expect an answer, because Dennis isn’t sure that he can give it one, “Are you sure it’s okay if I stay here again? Because I think we should talk if I am, man.”

“Okay,” Dennis agrees, even though it’s not, really. Even though he doesn’t want to. But Charlie’s looking at him like he’s scared that Dennis is going to break and Dennis has an urge to prove that he won’t, even if he’s convinced that he will, “About what?”

That makes Charlie laugh but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes and the sound is too hollow, too echoey against the walls of the room, “Well, you came in here and told me you’re not gay. Then you just went… Blank. But we did some pretty gay things last night so-”

“We were high,” It's a pathetic excuse, Dennis knows that, but it’s the last piece of armour he’s got, and he’d rather die than give it up. He’s so fragile, teetering on the knife's edge between mental shut down and just bolting out of the door. Had he really just walked into the room and announced that he wasn’t gay? Not that it needed announcing. That was just the truth. Obviously.

“We were. It was still pretty gay, dude.”

“You did it too!”

“I’m not claiming to not be gay, Dennis!”

“What? So, you’re gay now?”

“You’re putting words into my words!”

“Into your mouth, Charlie, for Christ’s sake.”

“In my mouth? That’s sounding pretty gay to me.”

Dennis regrets experiencing any and all feelings of affection towards Charlie because he’s sure now that Charlie is the most stupid and most annoying person he’s ever had the misfortune of spending time with. He sits on the floor, mainly because he’s given up on having a sensical conversation but also a little bit because his legs are going to give out. Still shaky. Still weak. He doesn’t like this at all. He has the urge to run, panic thrumming underneath his skin, but he’s not sure that his body would be able to carry him out of the room.

“What are you freaking out about, dude? Use your words!” Charlie parrots back to him and Dennis is starting to realise how annoying that phrase is right about now, but he was the one to start using it, and maybe he does give good advice sometimes. He just doesn’t want to actually have to follow it right now.

“I don’t want you to just expect me to sleep with you again!” It’s out before he realises it, which is annoying, because he hadn’t meant to say anything at all. He wishes he had more control over his brain to mouth connection. Charlie’s just… staring at him, face blank. No, upset? Concerned? Angry? Dennis can’t work out what he’s feeling, let alone trying to work out how to read Charlie’s face, “I don’t want you to just start… I don’t know, expecting sex from me now that we’ve slept together like once! I’m not some…”

Slut. Whore. Oh.

Dennis is starting to realise that maybe - maybe - he’s feeling a little bit fragile after last night. He feels incredibly stupid and small and broken, sat on his own bedroom floor, nearly on the brink of tears. Why must he experience things like ‘fear’ and ‘trauma’ and ‘embarrassment’? It seems like life would be a whole lot better without them. How can Mac think there’s a benevolent God when He made living in this world so exhausting? If God is real, Dennis is sure that He’s the wickedest creature to exist.

Charlie is hovering. He isn’t moving to sit down and for a second, Dennis wonders if it’s because Charlie’s disgusted by him. It’s a strange switch; moving from being worried that Charlie is too interested in him to being concerned that he isn’t interested at all. Dennis hates being so in his own head. He wants to be high again. Or drunk. Or maybe just asleep.

“We don’t have to sleep together again if you don’t want to, man,” Charlie says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And maybe it is. Still, the idea of never sleeping with Charlie again makes Dennis’ heart break a little, in a way that he can’t understand, and he lets out a small, involuntary sound of disappointment. He regrets it immediately, because Charlie moves to sit on the floor opposite him and now he has to look into someone else’s eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t want… I just…”

Dennis doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t know what he doesn’t want. He looks into Charlie’s eyes for an answer that he can’t seem to find but the eyes just stare back, offering nothing.

“What about if we just… If something happens again, then it happens and if it doesn’t, then it doesn’t, you know? And if we start doing something and then you decide you don’t want to, just tell me dude. But…” It’s at this point that Charlie trails off and Dennis finds himself leaning in, chasing after Charlie’s words, wanting everything to just be explained to him in a way that makes all of this easy and manageable and sensical. But, of course, Charlie doesn’t have answers either.

“But?”

“But you… You wanted to, uh, last night? Like, that was all fine when it was happening? And stuff?”

And it’s that, that question, that checking in, that makes Dennis think that he’s fallen in love with Charlie a little bit. Just a tiny bit. Because his heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest at the fact that Charlie is still - still, hours after the fact - checking in. Asking him if this is all okay.

“You asked me, like, every thirty seconds while it was happening,” Is what Dennis says, which isn’t what he wants to say, but he keeps his tone soft and hopes that Charlie picks up on it.

“But you-,”

“Yes, Charlie, I wanted to suck your dick when I was sucking your dick.”

“I still think that’s pretty gay, man.”

Dennis hates the fact that Charlie’s right. But he doesn’t feel so floaty anymore; so disconnected from the body that has been failing him for so long. He feels real, almost overwhelmingly so, but reality isn’t that scary anymore.

“I just don’t want you to expect that I’m… That I’m just gonna give myself over to you again if you ask,” Dennis gets quieter and quieter as the sentence goes on.

“I don’t. I won’t,” Charlie starts to laugh, “Wow, that was almost like, like lyrics to a song, bro!”

Dennis stares into Charlie’s eyes blankly and wonders why he has ever had the urge to kiss this man.

“Yes. You’re a poet and you didn’t even know it.”

“Woah, you’re doing it too! Maybe we should start like a band or something?”

Charlie ends up staying at Dennis’ that night, and then for the rest of the week too. Dennis ends up spinning a story about Charlie’s mom going away on holiday to his own parents, but they don’t listen to what Dennis has to say most of the time so there’s little issue there. They don’t offer to make up one of the spare bedrooms, and neither he nor Charlie ask. He notifies the cook, who starts making an extra portion for Charlie, but Charlie’s palette is… eclectic, to put it mildly, and he favours raiding the fridge most nights to concoct more elaborately disgusting sandwiches to Dennis’ dismay and sometimes, rarely, though he won’t admit it, amusement.

They climb out of Dennis’ window each night to get high and watch the stars, exchanging kisses in between drags, breathing smoke into each other’s mouths and laughing at the easiness of it all. Of course, it’s not like any of this is new to them; they’ve been making out with each other for years, hushed and secret and high out of their minds. They don’t go further than that again, though, generally too high and blissed out to want to, and instead fall asleep wrapped up so close it’s difficult to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Dennis doesn’t mention not being gay anymore and Charlie never asks him to have sex. Dennis can’t help but think that this is all merely the calm before the inevitable storm.

When they wake up on Friday, in the light of the morning sun, Charlie presses his face into the space between Dennis’ neck and shoulder, breathes out hot against his skin and mutters, “Mac gets back tomorrow.”

It breaks Dennis out of the relative calm he’s been in the past few days, breath suddenly caught in his throat, heart threatening to beat out of his chest and Charlie must notice something is wrong because he presses small kisses against Dennis’ skin and traces his fingers in patterns across Dennis’ back.

“My uncle should be leaving today, so I can go back home later,” Charlie pushes himself backwards to look up into Dennis’ eyes, “If you’re worried about Mac finding out about…”

“I’m not worried,” Dennis says, worriedly.

“Sure you’re not,” Charlie says, tone light and just a little bit teasing.

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

“No, I’m really not.”

“Yes, you really are.”

“No, I’m-Okay, this is getting us nowhere.”

“Where were we trying to go?”

It’s a wonder Dennis hasn’t smothered Charlie yet.

“Aren’t you worried?” Dennis asks, which just makes Charlie giggle and press his forehead against Dennis’ chest, “What?”

“What am I supposed to be worried about? That Mac will quote Bible verses at me? That he’ll tell me I’m living in sin? He does that anyway.”

Dennis supposes that Charlie is right, but it doesn’t help the fear that makes his stomach swoop every time he pictures Mac’s face.

“We don’t have to tell him, though,” Charlie says, too quiet, too soft, too caring and understanding and sweet, “You go back to college soon anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Charlie agrees, but he sounds sad and Dennis doesn’t have a solution to that.

“I just think it’s easier if he doesn’t know,” Dennis almost whispers, but he’s not sure if he fully believes it. This was never going to be easy, even if it was nice for the time being. But that was how life was always going to be, wasn’t it? Difficult and horrific with pockets of pleasantness just often enough to make all of the rest of it bearable.

“We can just go back to how things were.”

Dennis remains in bed while Charlie untangles himself from their embrace and pulls on a selection of clothes from Dennis’ floor. Everything is just a little too big for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind, and when he’s dressed, he turns to Dennis with a look in his eyes that feels like a far too permanent goodbye.

“If you need to stay here again at all, my door is always open,” Dennis jokes, fake laugh bleeding into his words but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He can’t tell if it’s the laughing or the panic that makes him sound out of breath.

“It’s definitely not, dude, your door is, like, always closed.”

For once, it doesn’t just feel like Charlie’s confused with a metaphor, and Dennis feels his heart skip a beat. Anxiety is a strange thing. Self-awareness even stranger.

“I mean you can stay here whenever. Even if… Even if Uncle Jack isn’t visiting.”

“Okay,” Charlie’s grinning now, and falls back into bed, pressing their lips together again. It’s slow, languid, mostly just hot breath being passed from one of their mouths to the other. It’s wet and hot and Dennis thinks that they should really do this sober more often. He feels more awake than he ever has in years.

They slow, because of course they do, and Charlie pulls back only to kiss Dennis on the forehead and then climb back out of bed, “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, doesn’t mention Mac even though they both know he’ll be there the next time they meet. It’s terrifying. 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Dennis tries to smile, but he’s not sure if it’s at all convincing. And maybe, when the door closes on Charlie’s heels, he cries just a little bit. Loneliness has never felt so real.

When Mac returns, mouth full of Bible verses and body full of energy, Dennis feels relief above all else. He’d forgotten how good a distraction from his background brain noise Mac was.

They do go back to normal, or at least, as normal as they can. Dennis and Charlie bicker in front of Mac for no reason at all, then share secret smiles when Mac turns his back. They roll their eyes when Mac quotes the Bible in one breath and gushes about how attractive his camp leader was in the next (‘I’m just saying that, objectively, he was maybe the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. Built in God’s image. That’s not gay, it’s just straight facts, you know? Charlie, why are you looking at me like that?’).

And maybe, if on the night before Dennis goes back to college, Charlie turns up on the doorstep of Dennis’ family home, smelling less of shit and not covered in any mysterious dark substances, well, Mac doesn’t have to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this travesty, special thanks to @vampire-sunny on tumblr for doing some art work and not getting super annoyed at me for my draft being very incoherent!!  
> https://vampire-sunny.tumblr.com/post/612044458899505152/my-artwork-for-the-iasip-big-bang-2020-i-drew-a


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